


Unmade

by RobinsonsWereHere



Series: Whump Week 2019 [4]
Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Grief, Murder, Shawn needs a hug, grief-impaired decisions, gus whump, i'm sorry gus, juliet needs a 'girlfriend of the year' award, this will hurt you, whump week, you deserved better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 21:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19754011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinsonsWereHere/pseuds/RobinsonsWereHere
Summary: Shawn and Gus are not brothers. But they've been something beyond best friends for so long that they might as well be. So how is Shawn supposed to deal with losing his brother, right in front of him? How is he supposed to deal with the fact that really, it's his fault?





	Unmade

**Author's Note:**

> i don't actually have tomorrow's fic finished pray for me 😬

Shawn is watching everything play out, but he’s powerless to stop it. He’s tied to the large metal support beam, staring across the room at Gus, tied to an identical one. The scheming, money-laundering bastard they’d chased here is grinning as he holds a knife to Gus’ throat.

“You shouldn’t have gotten in so far over your heads,” he sneers. “I’ve been doing this for too long to let a couple of amateur PIs get in my way.”

Shawn swallows the bitter fear in his throat, trying desperately to stall. “Aw, c’mon, amateurs? Really? There’s no need to be hurtful.”

“Do you know what’s going to hurt, Mr. Spencer? It’s going to _hurt_ when I slit your throat and leave you there to choke on your own blood. I have to kill you both, you see. And then this warehouse will go up in flames and the two of you will disappear and I will not be tied to any of it.” He grins a cold grin. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Shawn expects to have more time. He expects to be able to stall, to crack irritating jokes, to wait for Jules and Lassie to burst in, guns blazing. He doesn’t expect their tormentor to draw a cruelly efficient slit across Gus’ throat without so much as batting an eye.

“No!” Shawn struggles fruitlessly against his binds. “No! Not him! Kill me first!”

Across the room, Gus can’t even scream. Shawn’s eyes never leave his best friend as Gus gasps and coughs and then goes far too still. Blood runs from his neck down his shirt, turning the blue material a sickening, shining red. And when he stops bleeding, the truth hits Shawn like a truck.

Shawn had dragged them here. Shawn had gotten them into all of this- it had been his fault right from the start. And today especially, he’d insisted that Gus come along because it wouldn’t even take that long, he would be back to his real job before his lunch break was over.

And now Gus, his best friend for as long as he could remember, is dead. He’s dead, and it’s Shawn’s fault.

The murderer is approaching Shawn now, and part of Shawn wants to accept his fate, to let his life end and hope that he’ll see his best friend again. But he knows he owes it to Gus to get revenge. And even deeper down, he feels that he couldn’t possibly end up in the same place Gus is surely going. So Shawn tugs at the ropes, and miraculously, one comes loose. He drops to the ground, on his knees, as the killer approaches. And then he stands, and he punches him in the face.

The weak, conniving bastard stumbles backwards and drops the knife. Shawn grabs it from the floor and doesn’t even hesitate to plunge it into the man’s stomach, letting lose a primal scream of rage. Over and over, he slashes the knife through the flesh, until he’s satisfied that Gus’ killer is nothing more than a mutilated corpse soaking in its own blood on the cement floor. “You fucking bastard,” he spits. “You killed him. You killed him, you motherfucker! That was my best friend!”

The doors scrape open, and Shawn is no longer alone in the building. “SBPD! Drop your weapon!”

\---

Lassiter sweeps his gun around the building. After his assessment, he concludes that of the three people in the warehouse that are not him or his partner, two are dead and one is holding a bloody knife. That one is Shawn Spencer.

Of course, Lassiter knows that there’s simply no way Spencer could be responsible for Guster’s death. But that only strengthens the assumption that he’s murdered the man on the ground in front of him. No doubt about it, Spencer is leaving this building in cuffs. Carlton decides he’ll be the one to arrest him, because O’Hara cares deeply for the pseudo psychic and there’s no need for her to face the pain of cuffing someone she loves. By the time he turns to tell her this, she’s halfway across the floor.

“Shawn.” Her voice is steady and calming and does not shake. He admires her for it. If he was in her position, if Marlowe was standing above a corpse with a bloody knife…

“He killed Gus,” Spencer says, his voice hollow yet hostile. “He killed him. Gus is- Gus is dead.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, Shawn.” O’Hara reaches slowly for her cuffs, keeping her eyes on Spencer.

“Don’t you understand, Jules? I did what I had to do! I couldn’t let him get away with it!”

“You have the right to remain silent,” she answers. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford-”

“I am not the bad guy here!” Spencer has apparently realized what’s happening, because he whirls on O’Hara, cutting her off. He’s still holding the knife in his hand. “He killed Gus! He’s the murderer!”

O’Hara, rather than retreating from an unhinged killer brandishing a knife- which, Lassiter might add, is what is taught in almost every lesson at any police academy- steps closer. She lays a hand on Spencer’s arm, to calm him or cuff him, Lassiter can’t tell. Before she does anything further, Spencer twists and shoves her away. O’Hara gasps and Carlton sees red, both literally and figuratively- accidentally or not, Spencer has slashed through O’Hara’s sleeve and cut the back of her forearm with the knife.

“ALright, Spencer, that’s enough! You’re under arrest.” Storming across the warehouse, Lassiter pulls out his cuffs with one hand and rests the other on his holstered gun. _I’d like to see you worm your way out of this one._

\---

Juliet makes her way down to the holding cells only once she’s sure she’ll be alone there. She doesn’t need any of her fellows officers eavesdropping, and, contrary to her partner’s assumption, she still believes that she’ll be safe around Shawn. And when she sees him, he doesn’t look like he could do any harm at all.

Shawn is sitting on the bench in the holding cell, slumped against the wall. He doesn’t look like he’s slept. When he meets her eyes, she sees that his are haunted, filled with grief and despair. “Juliet, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see how you were holding up,” she answers, getting as close as she can. In Miami, the bars of the holding cells were far enough apart that she could slip through them if she tried. Not so here, but she wishes it were. “They’re running security footage now; we’ll confirm that it was self defense and have you out of here in no time.”

“And what about the ‘assaulting an officer’ charge?” His eyes drift to the bandage on her arm, barely visible thanks to her blazer.

“Shawn, don’t worry about it-”

“I attacked you with a knife, Jules!”

“Shawn, I promise you I am absolutely fine. I talked to the chief, that charge is being dropped.” Juliet watches him and he looks so sad and broken that her heart hurts. “Hey. Shawn. C’mere.”

He stands and walks over to her, barely reacting when she reaches through the bars and takes his hand in hers. She kisses his knuckles.“It’s gonna be okay,” she promises.

Shawn shakes his head. “It won’t. Not without Gus.”

\---

Henry brings Shawn a beer, gazing worriedly at his son as he lies listlessly on the couch. “How you holding up, kid?”

Shawn gulps half of it without a breath. “Stupid question, Dad.”

Henry sighs. “I know.” When Shawn still has no further response, he retreats to the kitchen. “Maddie, I’m worried. I know he’s grieving, but… I don’t know how to help him.”

Maddie smiles sadly and squeezes his hand. “Well, Henry, we have to give him time. Make sure he knows he can come to us, and don’t let him shut himself off completely.” She cranes her neck to see into the living room. “It doesn’t look like he’s doing that, at least.”

Henry can’t hear what’s being said, but Juliet has arrived and is standing by the couch, holding Shawn’s hand. Soon, Shawn pulls her gently to the couch and she goes willingly, curling into his side. Henry watches how close Shawn holds her, how he presses kisses to the top of her head and runs his fingers through her hair.

“You know, Maddie, I have a feeling we’ve got help.”

Maddie steps into the doorway next to him and leans into his side. “Good. We’ll need it.”

**Author's Note:**

> this wasn't s u p p o s e d to be this dark... so i gave it a somewhat uplifting ending?


End file.
